


Another Archdemon Would Be Simpler

by Sassydoilies



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: DAPromptExchange, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Multi, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassydoilies/pseuds/Sassydoilies
Summary: Written for the DA Prompt Exchange Summer Fill-a-Thon!"After Zevran leaves for Antiva, Cousland discovers that she is pregnant with his child. Alistair, who is now King, talks her into marrying him to save her reputation (they were previously just friends). She’s heartbroken over Zevran but agrees as she thinks he’s not coming back.Zevran returns thinking things will be the same but finds the Warden he loves is now about to marry/has married Alistair and is pregnant/has a child.He loses it at her, and she’s too stunned/upset to say much so walks away. Alistair reveals to Zevran that the child is his and what a moron he’s been.Posted to DA Kink Meme on 2011-01-31 11:10"





	Another Archdemon Would Be Simpler

Elissa Cousland was crying. She was never a woman who cried easily, and never in front of others if she could help it. That sort of thing, her mother always told her, was unsuitable for a woman of her rank. When her parents had been killed, she saved the tears for private. When Duncan had died, she had stayed strong to keep Alistair from losing himself in misery.

But this was too much. She would lose everything she had made for herself. Hero of Ferelden or not, there would be talk, people would judge, and she didn’t know what to do. She wouldn’t have cried in front of most of her former companions for anything, but she thought Wynne would understand.

The tears had started before she’d knocked on the door to the older woman’s room, her hand reaching out to the smooth wood of the mage’s quarters in the palace. She froze when a voice behind her called out jovially, “Ellie! When did you get in? My staff didn’t even tell me!”

She spun, her wet eyes wide. “Alis – Your Majesty!” She bowed formally, her armor clinking with the movement.

His smile faded as he looked at her. “Ellie, what’s wrong?” The King of Ferelden strode towards her, concern on his face. “Are you hurt?”

“What? No, of course not.” One hand brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Every – everything is fine. Your Majesty.”

His hands gripped her upper arms, and he stared into her eyes. She noticed idly that the crown on his head was slightly askew. “You’re crying. You never cry.” Alistair studied her, then turned and placed an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. We’re going to get you something to drink, and I’m going to find out why you’re crying.”

The tears came back, and her shoulders heaved as they fell. She certainly didn’t want to cry in front of him, but far better him than Morrigan. He guided her into a small drawing room, settling her on a couch and ringing for a servant to bring them refreshments. Then he sank down next to her, elbows on his knees. “Now, what’s this all about?”

Elissa buried her face in her hands, then whisked the tears away again. “It’s nothing, really.”

One eyebrow went up. “I know Zevran left last week, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d still be weepy over it.”

“I wasn’t weepy over it to begin with!”

“My mistake,” he said, clearly teasing. “I don’t know why I would have expected someone to cry when the person they love leaves the country without any idea when or if he’ll return.”

Elissa sighed and leaned back on the couch. “That’s nothing to do with it.” Her fingers laced together tightly over her stomach. “Well, that’s not why.” 

Alistair smirked. “Ah-ha! So that does have something to do with it.” He reached a hand out and placed it over her joined ones. “Look, Ellie, I know it’s hard, but you’ll be fine without him. You can take care of yourself.”

Her breath came in a long, trembling inhalation. “I can, but . . . I’m . . . .” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t continue.

“You’re what?” He leaned forward. “Amazing? Hungry?”

“Pregnant.” She buried her face in her hands again.

“Oh, pregnant. Well, I’m sure you . . . wait.” He sat up, looking at her in disbelief. “Pregnant?” She nodded miserably. “. . . And that bastard left you, didn’t say if he was coming back?” His voice was rising. “Did he know?”

Elissa shook her head and took her hands away. “He didn’t . . . I didn’t know, before he left.” She sniffed, picking up one of the cups that had been brought in. “I don’t know what to do. I’m a Grey Warden, I don’t even know if I can have a baby, let alone how to deal with . . . being by myself with one.”

Sighing, he reached into his robe and pulled out a handkerchief. Passing it to her, he shook his head. “That’s tough. I know my mother had a hard enough time, and she was just a maid.” His eyes grew distant as he thought about his own childhood, an unwanted royal bastard in a noble house. “And it wasn’t easy for me – even if you married someone else, there’s no guarantee he’d welcome . . . your . . . .” An expression dawned on his face, pure and simple realization. “Ellie, I think I have a solution.”

She set down the cup and looked at him. “You have an idea. Andraste help us all.”

He made a face at her. “It’s a decent one, honestly.” His hand reached out again, taking one of hers. “Look, this isn’t romantic or anything, and I know you and I aren’t really . . . interested like that, but . . . .”

“Alistair, you idiot, you’re not suggesting that we – “ Elissa stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Alistair, are you proposing to me?”

He squeezed her hand. “I guess I am.” Alistair shifted forward, looking at her seriously. “Look, it’s a great solution for both of us. I need a queen, and an heir. If we get married soon enough, no one will question whether or not the baby is mine.”

Sliding off the couch onto one knee, he took her hand in both of his. “You know I’ll love him or her the same, and . . . well, I love you, if not the usual way for a marriage. People have made it work with less.” His hands went away and he took off one of his rings, offering it to her. “Elissa Cousland, will you marry me?”

She looked at him, stunned, her hands in tight fists on her lap. “Your Majesty . . . Alistair, I . . . I need to think.” Elissa took a deep breath. “I appreciate the offer, no matter what.”

He gave her a small, winning smile. “Either way, stop calling me ‘Your Majesty.’” Straightening up, he pushed the ring back onto his finger and tugged his robes back into position. “We’ve been through too much.”

A small smile curved her lips, the first one since the healer she’d seen had told her. “I’ll try, but I was raised right, you know.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Alistair looked at her for a moment, eyes concerned. “You were going to tell Wynne, weren’t you? That’s why you were crying in my hallway.”

“I was, yes.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “She’s . . . been through a lot, I thought she would have some advice.” And a second opinion, she thought.

He nodded. “She’s level-headed. I’ll send her to you.” He started for the door, then paused. “I, uh, I’ll get a ring. Just in case.” And he walked out, leaving her with her thoughts and a full tea tray.

She dug into the snacks and tea while she waited, trying to work through the potential of the idea of marrying Alistair. It wasn’t a bad idea, really, except that it wasn’t fair to him. And what if Zevran came back?

But so what if he did? He’d left, never said if he was coming back. He’d never said he wanted children, so he might not even want to be involved in this. And she . . . she did want the baby. That wasn’t even a question, never had been. It would make things harder, but hard was comfortable by now.

If she was Alistair’s queen, she wouldn’t have to worry about people not taking the Wardens seriously because she was a single mother. She’d be carrying the heir to the throne of Ferelden, as far as anyone knew.

Her heart wasn’t so sure. She and Alistair might have been more than friends, but they hadn’t been. They did get along well, no question, but was she willing to – There was a quiet rap on the door, and Wynne walked in, moving slowly but gracefully. “Elissa, dear,” the older woman’s face creased in a smile. “Alistair told me you wanted to talk with me?”

Elissa looked at her and burst into fresh tears. “Ye-ee-ees,” she managed. “I’m sorry, Wynne,” she gasped out as the mage went to her, sitting on the couch and wrapping an arm around her. “I can’t seem to stop . . . cry-yi-ying.”

Wynne pulled her into a maternal embrace, pressing her head down to rest on her shoulder. “Shh, shh, it’s all right,” she whispered, rocking the Hero of Ferelden gently the way she’d comforted countless scared, homesick young apprentices. “It’s all right, dear one, we’ll fix whatever it is, don’t worry.”

It took longer than Elissa wanted for her to calm down enough to talk. But she felt better, clearer and calmer than she had. Nothing could replace her mother, but this was close, and that made it better, easier. Lifting her head, Elissa sniffed and wiped at her face with Alistair’s handkerchief. “I’m sorry, I . . . I apparently needed that.”

“I’m glad to help, even if that’s all you needed,” the white-haired woman said wryly. “But I suspect that wasn’t.” She turned to face the younger woman, holding one of her hands tightly. “Now, tell me, what’s wrong?”

It hurt less this time. “I’m pregnant.”

Wynne didn’t have the moment of confusion that Alistair had. Her fingers tightened around Elissa’s, and she smiled, a mix of happy, sad, and concerned. “Oh, my. Well, that explains the tears. I assume Zevran . . . .”

Elissa nodded. “I didn’t know before he left. I . . . don’t know what to do.” She bit her lower lip. “I told Alistair, he saw me before I could knock on your door.”

“I see. And what did he say?”

“He asked me to marry him.”

Wynne blinked, then sighed. “Always so impulsive,” she murmured. “What did you tell him?”

Fingers tightening around Wynne’s, Elissa looked at her. “I said I needed time to think. I still don’t know what to do.”

Leaning forward to the table, Wynne poured herself a cup of tea. “Well, let’s talk about it. Maybe I can help.”

They talked for several hours, and wound up having dinner in the small parlor. Finally, Elissa shook her head. “I’m going to sleep on it, I think. But . . . this has helped.” She gave Wynne a hug and stood up. “Thank you, Wynne.”

“Any time.” Wynne hugged her back. “You’ll make the right choice, Elissa.”

The next day, Elissa put on one of the dresses Leliana kept trying to get her to wear when she was at court – a light green underdress and dark blue overdress, both silk and embroidered with twining ivy. Her hair went up in a net, and a belt went around her waist holding her sword despite the scandal it would cause.

Several courtiers started as she passed them in the palace halls, not realizing it was the Hero of Ferelden until she was almost past them. She made her way to the royal apartments and waited until she heard Alistair’s voice saying she could come in. “Good morning,” she said as she walked in.

He looked up from his desk, surprised. “Good morning, Ellie. I didn’t expect to see you this early.”

She closed the door behind herself, walking into the room and sitting down in one of the padded chairs near the desk. “I didn’t expect to see you awake this early,” she teased. Stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankle, Elissa studied the side of his face.

“You’re also wearing a dress, which is highly unusual.” He turned to face her, smiling slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

She swallowed and straightened in her chair. “I, uh, have thought about our . . . conversation yesterday.” His face lit up, and Elissa smiled a little.

He then tried to act nonchalant. “Did you? What did you decide?”

Elissa twined her fingers together in front of her waist. “I . . . would be honored to accept your proposal.”

Alistair jumped to his feet, beaming. “Excellent! Really, really excellent!” He went over and clasped her hands, tugging her to her feet. “Ellie, I promise, you – and the baby – will have everything you need. And . . . I know I’m not really the one you want this with, but I’ll be as good to you as I can.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alistair, honestly. We both know where we stand with each other, and . . . well, this is a good thing.” A sad smile curved her lips, and she sighed. “My father would be so proud – he never dreamed that Fergus or I would ever aspire so high.”

His face fell a bit, but he kept her hands in his. “That’s true – and there will be an awful lot of empty chairs for loved ones we’ve lost at the ceremony. But it will be grand, I’m sure.” He squeezed her hands. “Now, we should tell the others. And the chatelaine.” He let her hands go and stepped back, studying her figure intently. She started to squirm a bit under the intense scrutiny. “How far out can we wait before, ah, things become . . . obvious?”

Pressing her hands to her stomach, Elissa shrugged. “Wynne says a few months, but . . . the longer we wait, the more people will talk afterwards. You know, when I look 7 months pregnant, but we’ve been married 3.”

One finger tapped at his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, yes, true.” Alistair pondered for a moment, then nodded. “All right. The chatelaine will screech like a peahen, but I’ll tell her no longer than 8 weeks. Sound all right?”

She nodded and put her hands together when she noticed the slight tremor there. “That sounds perfect.” A smile played over her face. “Look at you, giving orders like you’re in charge.”

“Ah, you haven’t seen me actually give the order yet.” He shivered dramatically. “Honestly, the woman is terrifying. I’d rather face the archdemon again than break the news that she needs to arrange a royal wedding in 2 months or less to her.” He straightened, tugging the doublet he wore into its proper position. “We’ll go out later today and pick out your ring together. Unless . . . .”

“Unless?”

“Well, you may not know this, my lady,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I have access to the royal treasury, and all the items contained therein.” She stared at him as though he were stupid. “Which means all the royal jewels. So if you wanted, we could ‘shop’ there first, and see about buying one if there’s nothing there that suits.”

Elissa blinked. “Why don’t we do that. I’d like to keep from spending the kingdom’s money on something so . . . frivolous, if we can.”

“Don’t think of it as frivolity,” he said, trying to bolster her, “think of it as stimulating the Ferelden economy. This wedding will involve a great deal of that.”

In the end, they selected a ring from the royal jewels, a simple if exceptionally large emerald set in gold, surrounded by a spray of diamonds. Having it turned into the proper size was a task for a jeweler in Denerim, however, and would take a few days.

The chatelaine did screech, but when Alistair proved surprisingly immovable on the timeframe, went directly to work. Leliana went with her to order her dress and was very specific about what the future queen wanted and did not want, none of which Elissa herself had any knowledge of.

Morrigan bid her a stiff goodbye after hearing the news – Elissa understood why, and gave the witch a tight hug before she left. It would be awkward enough without having the woman who was actually carrying Alistair’s baby – a baby infused with the soul of an Old God – there at the same time.

Wynne agreed to walk with her, and Ohgren promised to wait to get completely drunk until after the ceremony after she threatened him with a beard laced with flowers. Shale seemed excited, but it was so hard to tell with the golem whether the excitement was feigned or real. Barkspawn similarly seemed excited, but he hadn’t seen the fancy collar and hat Leliana had decided to have made for him. Sten had already left to go back to the beresaad, and there was little chance and invitation would reach him in time.

Everything came together better than expected – Alistair joked frequently that it was as though all the good luck they’d missed during the Blight was coming back to them now. Two months to the day of her accepting his proposal, Alistair waited at the top of the steps of the cathedral for her – they had decided to have an outdoor ceremony, since the weather was nice, and it would let them involve the populace. Maker knew the people of Denerim had had little enough to celebrate recently.

She and Wynne came most of the way in a carriage the chatelaine had dug up and had cleaned from when Cailan had reigned and dismounted a block away to walk the rest of the way. Wynne was dressed in a simple and modestly cut green gown, her hair braided down her back and woven with Andraste’s grace blossoms.

Elissa herself wore a long ivory silk gown cut low at the neck, with long sleeves that belled out over her hands and were dagged to show the rich gold of their lining. There were pearls and silk embroidery covering the body of the dress, hugging her figure as tight as they dared let it. They had arranged – Leliana again, she supposed – a series of little children from the alienage to hand her flowers during the walk. By the time they reached the steps of the cathedral, she had a full bouquet of flowers grown by and purchased from the elves in the alienage. Elissa had insisted on paying more than she would have otherwise; the people there had little enough that she wanted to help them at least a little.  
Her hair was in a braid similar to Wynne’s, but more elaborate and stranded with flowers and ropes of pearls and gems. Another rope of pearls and emeralds wound around her neck, matching the ring on her finger and the coronet Alistair would place on her head in the coronation ceremony that would follow the wedding ceremony – they’d found that in the treasury as well.

The walk to the cathedral seemed to take forever, and no time at all. Before she knew it, Wynne was squeezing her tightly and guiding her to the stairs, which they’d all agreed she would walk up by herself. She was a Grey Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, and the daughter of the Soldier and the Seawolf. She would give herself.

Maker, but this would be easier if Zev was still here! She wouldn’t be getting married at all, perhaps, but they could disappear for a while, until the baby came, and then come back and . . . and what?

Standing, one foot on the steps to her future, Elissa realized that she’d been so focused on how this wasn’t how she’d planned it that she hadn’t considered whether the plan she’d had, the one she’d made for herself and Zevran, would even work. He might have left anyway, or not wanted her to keep the baby.

Her eyes went up to Alistair, standing there looking uncomfortable in his heavy robes of state and gleaming crown, and he looked back at her, a small question on his face. Getting cold feet?

Elissa pushed her shoulders back and started up the stairs, smiling brilliantly at him. This may not have been her fairytale ending, it was a damn sight better than it could be. And she could be happy with Alistair. Her smile back at him answered, Not even a little.

The wedding ceremony was only less elaborate and pompous than the coronation ceremony that followed, but both had been abbreviated at Alistair’s insistence. The celebration afterwards was huge and exuberant, set in the market square. Heavy tables laden almost to collapse with food and drink, bright lanterns and garlands of flowers hung from every building and post, and everyone in Denerim could come and go as they wished.

She and Alistair were at a table set on a dais to preside over the festivities – dancing, music, a group of mummers who reenacted the Battle of Denerim. Both of them danced until their heads spun, with their friends, with people they’d never met. It was near dawn when the two of them stumbled into the royal apartments.

They were holding hands, and Elissa didn’t let his hand go when the door shut. He looked at their joined hands with a little surprise, and gave her a small smile. “That went far better than the captain of the guard predicted. We both should have been killed three times over before the cake.”

Elissa laughed. “Well, it’s good she was wrong this time.” Almost reluctantly, she took her hand away and moved to a vanity that had been set up along one wall. She sat down and started to undo her hair, slowly removing flowers as she untwisted the strands. “So, um, Alistair,” she started, unsure how to continue.

He took the crown off his head and set it on a stand on a dresser. “I know.” Face uncharacteristically serious, he shrugged out of his robe and tossed it over a chair. “We have to share a bed, but I understand that you might not be ready to . . .” he looked embarrassed, “ah, do anything else yet. Or ever!” He spread his hands in front of his chest. “And that’s fine too, really.”

The pile of flowers on the small table grew steadily, and she turned to face him. “I appreciate that. Maybe someday, I might . . . but even if I were willing tonight, I’m exhausted.” Her fingers worked the strands of gems out of her hair and gently set them on the table as well. A smile played over her face, wry and pleased, more like her than any expression he’d seen in a long time. “So let’s get some sleep.”

~ ~ ~

Leliana bounced the little princess on her knee, cooing as the tiny hand tried to grab her arm and missed by inches. “Ah, Your Highness, you’re getting better at that!” She tickled the pale-haired girl under the chin and was rewarded with a crowing laugh. “Soon we’ll have you knifing men for treason, just you wait!”

A sound outside the door drew her attention, and she stood lithely, setting the baby in the cradle next to her chair. She grabbed the crossbow that was leaning against the chair, hefting it – she was always prepared when she had babysitting duty.

Her finger was tense on the trigger when the door creaked open slowly, a hand clad in a black leather glove pushing it. The hand was followed by an arm clad in blood-red velvet, and a male voice with an Antivan accent said, “Please do not shoot me, Leliana. It would ruin this outfit, and Antiva paid quite a bit for it.”

She froze for a moment, then laughed. “Zevran, you fool. Clothes someone else bought are the only ones worth ruining.” Putting the crossbow down, she grinned as he walked into the room. They hugged as the six-month old started fussing, working her way up to a good cry. “Oh, don’t cry, dearest!” the red head whispered, lifting the red-faced princess into her arms.

“I confess to being surprised when they told me I could find you in the nursery, but seeing this beauty, who could stay away?” He studied the baby, then studied Leliana. “She looks nothing like you, however.”

Bouncing the baby, she winked at him. “And well she shouldn’t. I’m just the babysitter.” Straightening, and putting on a proper posture, she turned so the little girl could face him. “I have the honor of presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Delia of Ferelden.”

He was visibly taken aback. “Princess? Ah, then she is Alistair’s daughter.” He studied the girl again. “I do not see the resemblance there, either.” One chubby hand reached out to him, and he let her grab his finger.

As Delia waved his hand back and forth, Leliana shrugged. “I couldn’t say – one baby looks much the same as another to me, honestly.” She smiled fondly at the princess. “Well, it was that way at first, but her Highness as grown on me.”

They moved to sit on the sofa, Delia still gripping Zevran’s finger tightly. “So, if Alistair is her father, then . . . she does not look like she has the soul of an Old God festering in there.” He peered at the baby again, narrowing his eyes as he looked into her dark eyes. “There is something familiar around the eyes, though.”

“We haven’t seen Morrigan for over a year,” Leliana said a little sadly. “I’ve heard she’s studying among the Dalish with her boy – she called him Kieran, I think.” Brushing her hair behind an ear, the archer leaned back. “No, did you not know?” She did not want to be the one to break this news. Damn it all, why couldn’t it have been Wynne’s turn today? “The Queen is . . . .”

The door opened again, and Zevran looked up to see the woman he’d been hoping to see. She didn’t look the same – it had been more than a year, he hadn’t expected her to look the same. But Elissa, his Elissa, looked like a dream. She was wearing a dress – that was new – in purple velvet trimmed in ermine, but still had the sword belted at her waist. 

Her eyes were wiser, older, and they caught him as he realized he’d missed parts of her life he might never know about. But her eyes were bright with happiness, those plump lips curving in a smile, and as he stood up, he realized that she was wearing a gold coronet.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Leliana muttered, standing as well. She looked between them, and down at Delia, who was reaching out to her mother. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go find Grammy Wynne, and leave Mummy and Uncle Zev to . . . talk.”

She and the baby made a hasty retreat, Elissa brushing a fond hand over the small head as they went past. They could hear Delia start to wail as the door shut behind them. Elissa turned back to Zevran, her hands tightly clenched at her waist.

He stared back, the pleased happiness on his face slowly turning to something else. “So, you . . . are the little girl’s mother?” It was more statement than question, and his voice was so cold that it pierced her.

“I am.” She stepped further into the room. “Zev, it’s good to see you again.” One hand reached out to him, she couldn’t stop it anymore than she could stop herself from feeling the weight of her crown. “I . . . wasn’t sure you’d come back at all.”

“Perhaps I should not have bothered.” There was a bitter twist to his lips, and he raked his eyes over her. “Being a queen suits you, it seems.”

“Being a mother suits me,” she said immediately, regretting it immediately as he flinched. “Let me explain.”

Turning away from her, he shook his head. “There is no need. You found someone better suited to you, and did a reasonable thing.” She knew him well enough to read the tension in his shoulders, the posture he took. “Did you even wait before you fell into his bed? Before you decided I was not coming back, that you wanted to bear his child?”

Now her ire was up. “You . . . you bastard! You left, you didn’t even say if you might be back!” Her hands were in fists at her sides, her face starting to flush with anger. “What should I have done? Waited until I was as old as Wynne, waiting for word, for you to come for me?” Elissa let out a breath, calming herself. “Yes, Alistair and I got married quickly, but . . . .”

Zevran turned to her, and she barely recognized him with that expression of violent anger and disgust. “Please, do not explain to me how he seduced you. I do not want to hear it, to hear the lies you told yourself to make it feel less of a betrayal.”

She drew herself up, fingers itching to wrap around her sword and knowing that wasn’t the answer to this fight. “If you won’t listen to reason, then I won’t bother wasting more time talking to you. If you don’t want the truth, so be it.”

He scowled at her. “I doubt that what I would hear would be the truth.” He brushed his hands down the front of his jacket. “I would leave now, but I am sent as ambassador. So I must remain until that duty is completed.” He bowed stiffly. “Your Majesty. I will see King Alistair shortly and arrange passage back to Antiva City as soon possible.”

Her mouth tightened, and she put her hands together again. “Very well. You may withdraw, Ambassador.”

He flushed and headed for the door, and paused next to her, several feet away. “I did not once break my promise to you. Not once.”

She waited until the door shut before dropping into a chair. He’d promised before he left that he wouldn’t take another lover, that he loved her too much to betray the love they shared. She felt the sting of tears and put her face in her hands. Dammit, I thought I’d finished crying about him.

She’d stopped crying when Alistair came in twenty minutes later, Delia happily tugging on his beard. He took two steps inside the nursery and stopped, looking at her, then approached cautiously. “Are you all right?”

Elissa gave him a small smile, knowing she looked like she’d just been crying. “I am, maybe. I thought I was done crying about . . . things.”

He sat down next to her, passing the baby to her with a wince – he was fairly sure Delia had taken some of the beard with her. Maybe he should shave. “It’s hard, to give up on something and have it come back after you’ve moved on.”

Holding her daughter tightly, Elissa sighed. “I still . . . it’s been over a year, I wanted to believe I was past it, but then . . . and he accused me of . . . .” She drew a shaky breath. “He wouldn’t let me explain about Delia, or about why we got married so quickly. He told me whatever I said would be a lie.”

Alistair put an arm around her shoulders. “Ellie, he . . . well, you’ve had time to get used to the way things are. He hasn’t.” He squeezed her, stroking the little girl’s hair as he did. “I can talk to him, if you like.”

“You’re terrible at conflict, Alistair,” she laughed. “But he said he would see about an audience, so he can leave again.” Her shame was that her voice broke on the last words.

“That makes it easy, then,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever expect someone would think that he stole their woman. “I’ll be tough.”

A small, sad smile curved her lips. “All right. Thank you.” She patted Delia’s back gently – the princess was more than half-asleep already – and sighed. “It would have been so much easier if . . . well, that’s not the way it is.”

“No, it isn’t.” He stood up and adjusted the crown which had fallen askew. “Before I go, Ellie. What do you want out of this?”

She blinked up at him, eyes wide. “What do I want? I want . . . I . . . .” What did she want? She liked her life now, feeling like she did good as queen, being a mother. She didn’t want to leave Delia, but life on the road, which it would be, wasn’t something she wanted for her daughter. She still loved Zevran, there was no question about that. But she also knew that she loved Alistair too. How could she not, when he was so caring, so good to her daughter even though he wasn’t the little girl’s father? And he was a good husband, and trying to be a good king, and surprising as a lover.

He held up a hand. “I don’t need an answer right now, but . . . you need to think about it. I know I want you to be happy, and I’m sure that once he starts thinking properly, so will Zevran, so . . . think about it.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll put him off for a few days.”

Three days later, Alistair was sitting in an informal sitting room, whistling tunelessly and twirling his wedding ring around was he waited. Zevran walked in, stiff and formal in a blindingly white silk suit, carrying a leather folder full of documents. He bowed to Alistair and sat down in one of the chairs. “Your Majesty. Thank you for meeting with me.”

Alistair twitched an eyebrow. “My pleasure, Ambassador.” He inclined his head to the Antivan and stamped hard on the wry smile that tugged at his lips. “May I ask how long you intend to be this formal?”

“I am sure I do not know what you mean. This is appropriate, is it not?”

“Not when we’ve been through all we have. Maker’s breath, Zev, we killed an archdemon together!” Alistair leaned forward, hands on his knees. “You helped me with . . . you know, with Morrigan, and . . . .”

“And you seduced the woman I love. I suppose that evens the scales.” The look the former Crow gave Alistair could have frozen water in summer. “If you please, Your Majesty, King Fulgeno sends these documents and his regards.” He extended the leather folio.

Alistair stood up, ignoring the offered item. “You ass!”

“I beg your pardon?” Zevran seemed genuinely surprised at the heat in the king’s voice.

“You come back – when none of us knew if you would – and act like the wronged party because I helped the woman you claim to love,” he emphasized the word, knowing it was drive the other man crazy to be doubted, “out of a bad situation you put her in?” Alistair folded his arms over his chest, putting on his best kingly scowl. “And then you don’t even let her explain why she made the choices she did. I think that qualifies you as an ass.”

Standing stiffly, Zevran tried – and failed – to keep his expression neutral. “I do not have to sit here and be abused.” He turned on one heel and headed for the door.

“Don’t you dare.” Alistair’s voice was soft and silky, achieving genuine menace that Zevran had never dreamed him capable of. “Walk out that door, Arainai, and I will have you arrested and held in the dungeon until such time as I feel better towards you.”

Zevran studied Alistair for a moment, trying to discern whether he was serious. Then, with a small laugh, he sat back down in the chair. “Well done, Alistair. You make a much better king than any of us expected, I think.”

Polishing the nails of one hand on his doublet in feigned nonchalance, Alistair smirked. “I’ve learned a few things, yes.” He sat down as well, looking more seriously at the other man. “Now, really, we’ve got to talk this out. Ellie’s been miserable, and it’s made life quite wretched.”

Zevran huffed. “I sympathize – she’s dreadful when she’s upset – but I don’t see what solution you could propose. Andraste’s knickers, Alistair, you must have bedded her within days of my leaving!”

“If that’s what you think, I’m surprised I woke up this morning. You’re being stupid and blind, Zev.”

There was a moment of silence, and Zevran blinked slowly. “Wait.”

Alistair sighed. “You’re going to make me tell you, then. All right. Delia is my daughter – in every way except blood.” The Antivan gaped at him, still not speaking, and Alistair threw his hands up. “You didn’t recognize her features? Say from when you look in the mirror every morning? You great pillock?”

Zevran’s mouth opened and closed a few times, the first time Alistair would remember seeing the assassin speechless. “She is . . . Delia is my . . . .” The realization washed over him, and he began to grin like a fool. “I have a daughter.”

Looking at him steadily, Alistair waited for the rest of the puzzle pieces to click into place. He saw the exact moment, as the joyous grin turned into a look of mild horror and intense shame. “Oh, Maker’s blood! I . . . left her.” He stared at Alistair for a moment. “I am a pillock.”

Nodding, Alistair leaned back in his seat. “You didn’t know – she didn’t know, when you left. And when she was wandering the halls, weeping without an idea of what to do, I . . . offered to solve the problem.” He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his ring again. “We were married 2 months later. It had to be quick, you see, or no one would believe Delia was mine.”

Zevran blew out a breath. “I am . . . sorry. I should thank you, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to. I did sleep with her – the first time was three months ago.” He shrugged. “A betrayal, perhaps, but . . . really, she was so destroyed over this for so long. I couldn’t hold that against her, if I were in your shoes.”

“When did you become so wise?” Zevran asked, struggling with the information he’d gotten. “I . . . should speak with her. Apologize and . . .” another thought occurred. “Alistair, will you . . . will I be allowed to see Delia?”

There was a pause, and Alistair nodded. “Ellie will have to agree as well, of course, but I don’t see why you couldn’t.” He smiled, and kicked his feet up onto the small table between their seats. “What do you want from this whole thing, Zev?” He thought he knew, and Ellie had given him a general idea of what she wanted. Thank the Maker Leliana had translated it into something he could understand.

“I . . . had not considered it.” Honest unease spread over the Antivan’s face. “I suppose Elissa wants nothing more to do with me.”

“Not exactly.” Not even a little, really. Alistair hadn’t realized she had a greedy bone in her body, but she’d surprised him. “If you had your choice,” he pressed, “what would you want?”

One long-fingered hand ran through Zevran’s perfectly placed hair. “I . . . would want Elissa and Delia to be happy, to have anything they needed.” He looked around the room. “I confess that this is something I might not be able to provide, despite my government post. And she would not be happy leaving Ferelden permanently.”

“I have a suggestion then, one I think will fit all of us well.” He’d been surprised when Leliana suggested it, and even more surprised that he hadn’t loathed the idea. “I’ll ask Fulgeno to assign you as the permanent ambassador to my court. Then we can,” he still blushed at saying it, thinking it seriously, “share.”

Zevran blinked in surprise, more from hearing Alistair suggest something like that than anything else. “I confess, I did not think that you – or Elissa – would welcome such an idea.”

Shifting his shoulders uncomfortably, Alistair rubbed his hands over his thighs. “Yes, well . . . she couldn’t make a decision and kept going back and forth on it. So I talked with Leliana, and she suggested that maybe the reason Ellie couldn’t pick was that she wanted both, ah, options.”

“Leliana suggested it? That makes more sense, yes.” The Antivan leaned back in his chair, idly turning the folder over in his lap. “Well, I would be happy to attempt the arrangement, assuming your queen agrees.” His face twisted in a wry smile. “I suppose I shall have to apologize for my poor behavior before she would consider it. I shall have to be,” the smile transformed into a smirk, “very persuasive.”

Clearing his throat, Alistair stood up, tugging his sleeves straight. “I could go with you, if you want. Pave the way, as it were.”

Zevran stood up as well, unbuttoning his suit’s coat. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” He nodded briskly to the king, and they headed out into the hallway together.


End file.
